


Beginning

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Miranda [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting, Violence, Viridians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young woman lives a hard life at the hands of some brutal Klingons on an isolated outpost. Then one day, one of their prisoners endangers himself on her behalf, and everything changes. This story is unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.
> 
> Note: This story is unfinished.

The sun is setting and I am making dinner at the hearth. I hear the patrol come stomping in, yelling, banging their swords. They have a prisoner. A new one. He can't walk, so they drag him on the ground. I go back to making dinner as they throw him in the cage. He is not interesting to me.

He's been thoroughly beaten. He must have tried to resist them. That was stupid of him. After a few hours they poke at him to see if he's awake, but he isn't. That's fine with me. That means I don't have to feed him.

They are up late into the night, drinking and celebrating their capture. Compared to them the new prisoner doesn't look very intimidating—I shouldn't think they would feel much honor at his defeat. But mostly they just want an excuse to drink. I am far more concerned with trying to do what they tell me to, and stay out of their way when they have forgotten me.

The next morning I go to make breakfast. I hear a movement in the cage and see that the prisoner is alive, and awake. He stares at me through the cage door, but I know better than to go near him. There have been many prisoners here before him that I remember; and none of them have been any better than their captors. They are dangerous. I am not to go near them unescorted. Not because anyone wants to protect me. But because they don't want to risk me setting a prisoner free. Or because they don't want to risk a prisoner killing their servant. Then they would have to cook and clean for themselves.

His appearance is not even very interesting. His skin is pale, his hair and clothes dark. He has no dramatic cranial ridges, antennae, skin in bright blue or green. He looks the most like me of the prisoners lately. Perhaps he is of the kind with pointed ears? No, then the blood drying on his hands and face would be green, not red. I remember that part.

I am to bring him food and water. I don't like the prisoners. At least their captors are predictable, but the prisoners are desperate. They could do anything. That's why To'Kak stands over me, glaring, as I push a plate of food and a cup of water through the cage bars. To'Kak is not happy to have this job, but he angered the Chief earlier today with some careless remark—To'Kak is always careless in his remarks—and thus was given this duty as punishment.

The prisoner looks me over. I am used to that. His eyes seem more intelligent and lucid than I would have thought, given his beating. He looks as though he is assessing me. I hesitate a fraction of a second after handing him the food and water—I am not waiting on the prisoner or trying to communicate with him, I am just tired. But To'Kak gives me a whack to the head anyway and I topple over. I know to lie still quietly and let him yell. After a moment someone at the table tells him to shut up. You wouldn't think they would mind yelling, as they all do it all day long.

As soon as To'Kak stomps away, I get back on my feet and continue about my work. I happen to glance back and I see the prisoner still watching me. But that is not my concern. He cannot get out. He cannot hurt me.

Later when I'm cleaning I hear the prisoner talking. I don't know what he's saying. His language isn't mine. For a while the others ignore him, then shout for him to shut up. But he's finally got their attention, and he keeps talking. He talks slowly, loudly, like that will help anyone understand his language. At last one of them goes over to the cage, yells at him, bangs on the bars. He stops talking after that.

After supper I clean up the tables in the courtyard. The prisoner is pacing his cage now. He limps a little but seems less distressed than I had thought when they dragged him in unconscious. He's testing all the walls, the door, the lock. He's not the first to have done that. He sees me and tries to speak to me, but I ignore him, turn my back on him. I don't want anyone to think I'm listening to him.

Finally I notice he keeps repeating the same word over and over and I glance back at him. He's holding the water cup out. I narrow my eyes at him and look around. There is no one who can stand by the cage while I get the cup. Of course if anyone were here they would just have me continue to ignore him. Seeing me watch him, he slowly sets the cup down on the ground, outside the cage, and steps to the back, hands up. I hesitate. Sometimes the prisoners are reasonable. I am not like the captors, I do not like to see people suffer. But I will not be taken advantage of, either. Prisoners have tried that before, too.

Cautiously I approach the cage. He stays where he is. He has placed the cup as far away from the cage as he can reach, which is still not very far. I crouch down to pick it up, so I don't have to take my eyes off him. He doesn't move. I fill the cup with water, then place it exactly where he had. I back away, and he does not take a step forward until I am far away, by the tables. Then he reaches out and takes the cup, pulling it inside and drinking the water. He seems grateful. As well he should be. I think the expression on his face is a smile. I turn away and continue cleaning. I doubt anyone has seen me make this unauthorized action—they would have yelled and shouted about it by now. Stealth is not their method of choice.

The next day I am to bring him food and water again. Again To'Kak must stand guard.  Again he is not happy. His fellows are playing a game on the table, their betting game with colored stones that must be thrown. To'Kak is anxious to see how it will turn out. He keeps drifting closer to the table, stretching up to see over people's heads, farther from the cage. I would not count on To'Kak to protect me, anyway. But perhaps I will be able to finish this duty without being hit.

The prisoner takes the food and water. He says something short in return. I don't know what it means. Before I can go he pats his chest and says something else. "Reed. Reed." Perhaps he is saying he's hungry? My estimation of his intelligence drops again. Of course he's hungry. He hasn't eaten since this time yesterday. What a foolish thing to say.

To'Kak does not like it either. He roars when he sees the prisoner talking to me and belts me out of the way. My vision swims; his blow is harder than usual. I am used to the pain and his moods, and today I know I should try to crawl away quietly while he yells at the prisoner. But I have not gone far when I am grabbed and shoved against the bars of the cage. My feet do not touch the ground. To'Kak shakes me like a stick, yelling. Then there is more yelling. At first I think it is one of the others telling To'Kak to shut up, but the sound does not come from that direction. I realize—it is the prisoner yelling.

I crane my head to look at him. His eyes are dark and angry, and he grips the bars of the cage like he could rip them out with his bare hands. I wonder what he's angry about. I know he doesn't understand what To'Kak is yelling at him. And his food and water are intact on the floor behind him. Surely he cannot be stupid enough to tell his _captors_ to be quieter.

To'Kak is confused too. He shakes me again, and the man yells again. Another shake, and another yell. A strange thought begins to form in my aching head—is the man yelling because To'Kak is hurting me? I am thinking about this, and it is so strange, so foreign. Oh, people have yelled in anger because someone was hurting me before and told them to stop—as I said, they don't want to lose their servant. But this is different. I am not this man's servant. No one else will give him extra water, true, but that is hardly worth provoking To'Kak about. They would continue to feed him if I died. Perhaps it is not true, and the prisoner really _is_ crazy.

To'Kak does not know how to respond and finally seems to think the prisoner must be out of his mind as well. He tosses me aside and I crawl quickly behind the fuel bin out of sight. To'Kak continues to yell at the prisoner a little but I can see he is disturbed—the prisoner seems more angry than afraid. The captors don't like crazy people. And you would have to be crazy to act like this man does.

I stay behind the fuel bin for a while. They leave me alone when I must heal. Someday I think I will hide from them forever, but that is a silly idea of course. Where would I get food? Where would I get water? If I should leave the compound, where would I find shelter? I could never leave, no matter what. Someday I might crawl up in a corner and hide there until I die, but I could never leave.

I wait until the courtyard is empty before I crawl out. It is the height of the sun and most people are indoors. The prisoner bakes in his metal cage. I was healed well enough earlier, but why bother coming out too quickly? I push myself to my feet and start to limp away to do my chores.

"Chanak," says the prisoner, and I turn to him sharply. He sees my interest. His voice is quiet; I drift cautiously closer to hear him. "Chanak," he repeats, pointing at me. That is what they call me, yes. He pats his chest again. "Reed. Reed. Chanak," pointing, "Reed," patting. At once I understand him. Reed is his name, or his designation.

"Reed," I say, pointing at him. I mouth the word more than say it, but he grins in approval. I don't know why he thinks I will be impressed with this. Other prisoners have told me their names before. The prisoners want to be released. They think I can help with that somehow. I have no key to the lock, no tool to break it with. I have seen these things around the compound, yes, but I have no desire to be tortured or killed for handing them over. I shrug at the prisoner, to indicate he is not very interesting, and turn my back.

"Chanak," he says again. I ignore him, but he speaks more loudly. I don't want him to attract attention, so I turn back. He has placed the water cup on the ground again, backed away.

For a moment I am irritated. Do I have nothing better to do than limp around the courtyard fetching his water? Then I see the look in his eye, and I seem to know something about him. He is thirsty, yes; but he is trying to interact with me, to do something that has been successful before. I bring him more water. I am cautious as before, he remains still as before. This interaction is equally successful.

It is supper time. I am very tired. I should have hidden longer, healed more. Or taken a nap somewhere before now. It was my mistake that I did not, and mistakes must be paid for. The trenchers of food are heavy, laden with meat. I normally struggle with them but succeed. Tonight I am not focused. I glance idly in the direction of the prisoner as I'm walking and his eyes, glittering dark in the firelight, mesmerize my tired mind. Perhaps his kind have those powers? But I don't think it's really that. I think I'm just tired. I lose my grip on the trencher and it falls, hitting the edge of the table and spilling food everywhere.

Everyone roars with laughter. Everyone except the person who was spilled upon, who is of course To'Kak. People are making fun of him and he does not handle that well. He jumps up and strikes me across the face, quite hard. I am on the ground in an instant. I lay limp, waiting for whatever he will do next. He grabs me and slams me hard on the tabletop; the breath is knocked out of me for a moment and I see sparkles of light dancing around me. The jeering and laughing at the table stops suddenly because someone else is yelling—the prisoner again. Now I know he is yelling for me. To make them stop hurting me. Even if he is crazy, his yelling seems to lessen the pain. I stare at him, sideways, and my vision shakes as To'Kak shakes me, but I feel like it is not really my body he is shaking. I am staring at the prisoner, focused on his face.

Finally someone tells To'Kak enough is enough and I am discarded. I lie still for a while, so they will know I am hurt. To'Kak will have to get his own supper from the fire. Then I crawl to the other side of the hearth to rest.

After dark it is quiet. People have gone to bed, except the guards, who are asleep standing up. They would be severely punished if they were caught, but no one cares to catch them. No one has ever attacked this compound that I remember.

A soft noise stirs the darkness. "Chanak." He cannot see me. I am hidden. But he has been watching, I suppose, and he has not seen me move away. I know he will get louder if I do not appear, so I do. He beckons me to come closer and I go. I am halfway there before I think, maybe I shouldn't do this. I stop outside of his reach and sit on the ground; I'm too tired to stand.

He points at me, urgently. I blink at him. What can this fool want now? He catches my eye, looks down, points, says something. He touches his arm. Finally I look down. Oh, my arm is bleeding. The cut is long and thin, somewhat deep. It will heal. Everything always heals. It may swell and turn red and stiff first, and that will be unpleasant, but eventually it will heal.

He takes off a piece of his clothing. He has many layers that he pulls on and off all the time—off when the sun bakes him during the day, on when the night chills him. I am not cold; I am used to the night here. He must be crazy, if he thinks I will take his piece of clothing for all to see.

He rips the clothing then. I _knew_ he was crazy. I look around quickly, to make sure the guards haven't been awakened by the sound. He has produced a strip of cloth. What an idiot. What is he going to do with that? Tie himself up? He gestures for me to come closer but I will not. I saw the Chief strangle a prisoner with a length of rope once. I think this cloth could do the same thing. What benefit the prisoner would receive from strangling _me_ , I don't know, but if he is crazy there may be no benefit at all.

He points to my arm again, then to his. He runs his finger down his arm, an imaginary cut. Then he wraps the cloth around the arm tightly. At first I think this is another way in which he is mad. He does the entire pantomime over again. I stare at his face. His eyes do not look mad, the way some prisoners' do after a while. The wrapping of cloth begins to look familiar to me. The captors are often injured, usually by each other in their fighting. They are tough, they boast that they can heal without assistance. But once an injury was more severe, and the Old One who is now dead had to bind someone's leg up in cloth. Is there magic in the cloth? How will this prisoner, who is so clearly not of the captors' kind, know the proper magic to invoke, if magic it is?

I scoot closer. I feel something of him. I feel he wants to help me. This is an inexplicable sensation. I am not even sure how to explain what I feel he wants, because I have never felt it before. _He_ is the one in a cage. _He_ is the one being starved and baked and chilled. _He_ is the one who will die when the Chief wants a sport. But I feel he is worried about me. I feel it as strongly as though he had said this, and we understood each other's languages, and I knew him to be telling the truth.

I am quite near him now, and I do not remember moving the last meter. Maybe he _has_ bewitched me in some way. If so, I cannot resist. I do not want to resist. I tell myself, you may be killed for this. I tell myself, I know. I am right beside the cage now.

He reaches out with the cloth in one hand. He's as close to the bars as he can get, awkwardly trying to reach me. I lift my arm and he focuses on it intently, binding the cut in the cloth. I feel no magic working, but when he ties it tightly he seems satisfied and sits back. I find his satisfaction is enough for me. It makes me feel... content. A little bit. After all, he is still sitting in a cage, so he cannot be _that_ satisfied.

I stand and walk across to the tables that have not been cleared. Of course I will do that, in a minute. First I bring the prisoner some more water. He seems surprised. He is shocked when I further bring him some meat. I feel he would like to leave here, to go home. But that is only natural. Everyone wants that. I think, what if he was only helping me, because he wants me to help _him_? But this motivation does not seem to matter, somehow.

He is miming something again. I feel I must pay attention and kneel by the cage. He pretends to talk into his hand. I am mystified. He draws pictures in the air, in the dust on the ground. I do not know what he wants but I sit and watch patiently. I feel his frustration. Then suddenly there is a picture in my head. The object is metal and rectangular; I see the front cover open and close. Voices come from it. I think this is what he wants, and I know where I have seen it.

It is not hard to get, even if it _is_ in the Chief's bedroom. He is snoring in bed, asleep, and even if he were to awaken it's not unusual for me to be in there, cleaning or bringing him food. I am not trusted; I am merely beneath notice. It is but the work of a moment to take the object I see in my mind from the trunk by the wall and bring it back out to the prisoner. I suppose I could have done it any time for anyone, but I feel as though it had never occurred to me before.

He looks shocked when I hand it to him, more shocked than when I brought him food. He is utterly amazed, and then he smiles at me. I smile back and it hurts my face because I so rarely do it. He opens the device, starts poking at it, speaking. He says his name into it. I don't know what he's doing, but it makes him happy. This makes _me_ happy. The device crackles and starts to talk back. I am not afraid; I remember now, sometimes the patrols use devices like this to talk to each other when they are far apart. I was once beaten for breaking one, on accident, when I was younger.

He is so happy that people are talking back to him. He looks at me and holds out his hand. He waves urgently but suddenly I'm scared. He is very worried, which makes _me_ worry. "Chanak!" he says. He says something sharply to the device, but I will not come near. I feel ashamed of myself but I am too afraid.  I don't know what's going on.

Then suddenly he disappears. It is not a quick disappearance—his form sparkles and shimmers, and then he fades away. Something in me snaps—I feel he has gone a great distance away from me, a great distance. An unbearable distance. I start to cry, sobbing as I haven't since I was very young. I am being too loud; the guards will awaken; they will discover the prisoner is gone. But I don't care. I feel as if part of my body has been severed and cast away.

Indeed the guards awaken. The alarm is raised. Everyone spills out of the compound into the courtyard. I can do nothing but cry when questions are put to me. I am yelled at and shaken and hit, but I can't answer them. They can't figure out how the prisoner has escaped, but they know I must have something to do with it. I am put in the cage in his place. Now I am the prisoner.

Hours go by. The sky lightens. I am still crying in my cage. For once I do not fear being beaten. They know they will get no answers from me. They race around the courtyard, yelling at each other, forming search parties, loading weapons. I know the man who was the prisoner—Reed—is far away from them. He is safe from them. I know this, and it brings me some small comfort. But I cannot stand being parted from him. Perhaps today will be the day when I curl up and die.

There is even greater commotion in the courtyard. And suddenly I know Reed is here again. But no, he can't be here, here is dangerous for him. I can't let him be in danger. I rattle the cage bars, screaming. I can't break free. I turn as far as I can and I see him, I feel him—he has a weapon now and there are others of his kind with him, all with weapons. But there are many of the captors as well, and they are furious. He is fighting, moving slowly in my direction. He turns, he looks me right in the eye—"Chanak!"

He is coming for me.

He came back for me.

He was safe and put himself in danger for me.

The metal bars of the cage melt away like fat in the fire and I am free, running across the courtyard towards him. I feel no pain as I run, no jarring impact on the ground, no fear as the bolts of stunning, killing light fly by me. They cannot stop me. I see only him. I am floating through the air towards him, my feet not even touching the ground.

I crash into him, knocking him down. There was a purpose to this; To'Kak was right behind him with his two-handed sword, ready to slice his head off, and now To'Kak has missed. Reed and I roll away, him in charge, to the hearth, and crouch by it. To'Kak is still coming. Reed's weapon has fallen away. He stands and tries to fight To'Kak by hand—I think, he _is_ crazy, after all this. To'Kak is much taller and stronger than Reed. And To'Kak knows what he's doing with the sword.

I am scared to attack. I can't attack. But I see the sword, shining in the rising sun, crashing down towards Reed, and I can't let him be hurt. I leap up and shove him aside, again, and the sword smashes into my body. Luckily it was the blunt side; if it had been the sharp side I would have been cut in two. I feel I almost am anyway. To'Kak falls over, senseless—Reed has found his weapon. He is very concerned about me. He also thinks I'm a little stupid, or at least crazy. I smile a little because I think the same of him.

"Chanak!" he says, shaking me a little. "Chanak!"

"Reed," I tell him. I can play his game.

He picks me up and I cling to him tightly. I feel perfectly safe. I feel no pain at all. I just wish he would quit worrying about things. He shouts something at someone, and then a strange tingling feeling fills my body. The compound begins to dissolve away. The shouting begins to dissolve away. For an instant I am nothing, and yet I feel it, I know it. So I cannot be nothing. Before I can complete the thought a new world appears around me. It is so quiet, for a moment I am deafened. Then we are moving, and there are other people around, people of Reed's kind, and he's talking and they're talking, and Reed's running down a hall carrying me. This place is not open and dusty, like the compound; we are indoors, the hallways are close and narrow. It doesn't look better than the compound. But I know it _is_ better, because Reed is here.

Through another set of doors. This room is larger, brighter. Everything seems clean. I see no windows, though. A man turns around and he is not of a kind I have seen before, although there are similarities of course. Reed puts me down on a table and starts to move away as the strange man moves closer. I cannot let this happen. I start to scream, reaching out for him. I will climb off this table, or perhaps throw myself off this table, if I must.

People fling themselves across me, trying to keep me still, but I will fight them off, all of them. The strange man approaches with something in his hand. I will not let him get me. I must get away, get to Reed, who is backing away. Then he changes his mind and comes back to me. "Will you _shut up_?!" he snaps, taking my hand. I am not surprised that I understand him. I stop screaming and lie still, because this is what he wants. "Calm down," he tells me. "You're safe here." I believe him.

I am very tired suddenly, and things that didn't hurt before start to hurt. A lot. I squeeze his hand and start to curl up. I don't feel like I'm crying, but tears leak from my eyes because of the pain. I can heal if I can lie still and quiet for a while, but these people won't let me. They keep trying to stretch me back out and it hurts. "Be still," he tells me, and I nod and try to obey him. "Can't you give her something?" He's talking to the strange man over my head. Something cool touches the side of my neck. And then there is only blackness.

 

I wake up suddenly. I am not where I am used to being. I hurt, but not as much as before. I feel... fuzzy, slightly dull. I felt this way once after sneaking a large mug of ale, but I do not remember drinking any ale this time.

I am in the bright, clean room with no windows, although the lights directly above me have been dimmed. I start to remember things, about Reed and the noise and the strange man. Reed. Reed rescued me. Reed brought me to his home from the compound. Reed came back for me. I must find him. I know he isn't far away, somewhere in the building. It is as though I can hear him, or smell him, but not exactly. I know I can find him, wherever he is.

There is a movement in the room and quickly I lie still. I can be very still when I need to be. I open my eyes the tiniest bit and see the strange man looking at the wall above my head. He makes a little noise to himself, then turns away. I follow him with my gaze, hoping he will be out of sight soon so I can go look for Reed. I have no reason to think he would stop me; but I don't want to take that chance. The strange man goes to the door and touches a button on a box beside it, and the door opens. This is an important thing to remember. The doors at the compound worked the same way, but it was bad to push the wrong button on accident. I remember which button the strange man pushed.

I sit up on the bed and something tugs at my arm. There's a tube attached to my hand somehow, with the other end in a bag over my head. I don't know how to move the bag or what it's for, so I pull the tube out of my hand. It doesn't hurt much. It was not a very good restraint, especially as it seems to be the only one. I push the blanket off me and swing my feet to the floor. My feet are bare and the floor is cold. My old clothes are gone; instead I have new clothes, dark blue and loose-fitting and clean. Reed must have given them to me. The urge to see him grows even stronger.

I am dizzy at first when I stand up; my legs shake a little, things hurt. But I know I will heal. I will find Reed, then I will curl up beside him and heal, and things won't hurt anymore. I walk towards the door, becoming more steady as I move. The floor vibrates gently; perhaps I am near the power source? I push the same button the strange man did and the door opens for me, and I walk out into the hall.

The hall is darker but still better than the compound, and cleaner too. I know where Reed is; he's below me, on a different floor. The challenge is to get to him, and get to him I will. There are other people of Reed's kind in this strange building, but they are not interesting to me. I try to hide from them, so they cannot stop me, and to watch what they do so I will know how to get around. I can feel Reed pulling me towards him. There is little else I want to think about besides seeing him again.

Finally I see a ladder. It goes both up, to the floor above, and down, to the floor below. This is how I will get to Reed. Climbing the ladder is a bit difficult and painful but I do it gladly. Soon I am on the proper floor and I hurry towards Reed. The only thing that makes me stop—besides hiding from other people—is when I pass a strange thing in the hall. I would call it a window, but it does not seem to look outside. There are no trees or plains, no sunlight or moonlight. It is just a black background with streaks of light moving through it. It must not be a window at all, but rather a screen of some kind. But I don't know what it shows. This object distracts me for only seconds, however, and I am soon on my way to see Reed.

I hurry as I get closer. I know he's in pain. It's not urgent—more like discomfort. The injuries he received haven't healed yet. I will take care of him. He will curl up and heal, and I will keep him warm and bring him food and water. When he is well I will curl up and heal, and he will take care of me.

He is beyond another door and I open it, walking into a large room filled with crates and long metal things in stacks. They are not interesting to me. There are also others of Reed's kind here, but they are not interesting to me either. They vanish from my mind completely when I see Reed. He is studying something intently and does not see me until I'm right beside him.

He's startled to see me. "What are you doing out of Sickbay?"

"I came to see you," I tell him. I have to touch him, pet his arm, his face. He ducks away a little but this doesn't bother me. "You're injured. I'm going to take care of you."

"Really? How lovely. Excuse me a moment." He's holding my wrists in one hand. It keeps me from touching him, but at least he's touching me. He pushes a button on a box on the wall—I think it had squawked earlier, but I wasn't paying attention to it. Only to Reed. "Reed here." I think he's talking to the box. "She's in the Armory, Doctor. Shall I bring her back to Sickbay?" He lets me go and I reach for him again, wrapping my arms around him. I feel that he isn't entirely comfortable with this, but I can't help it; I just want to be close to him. "Nothing to do, Ensign?" he snaps at one of the others in the room, and the man turns away quickly. Good. People shouldn't upset Reed.

He takes my hand and leads me out of the room, back through the hallways. He moves stiffly, his injuries painful. I hurt when he hurts. With my free hand I try to make him feel better, touching his arm, his neck, his face. He shies away when I try to touch his hair. "Um, Chanak," he begins.

"Reed," I say immediately. I want him to know I remember.

"Yes," he agrees. "Look, I appreciate you wanting to take care of me, but it's not really necessary. And could you stop touching me, please?" He glares at another person who walks by.

These other people seem to make Reed angry. I wonder why he stays with them. "We can go anywhere you want," I tell him. "We can go away from all these people. And I will get you pancakes with peanut butter, and I will keep you warm, and you will get better."

I sense his astonishment. "Pancakes with peanut butter?"

"That's what you want, isn't it?" I ask him, although I know somehow. "I don't know what they are, but I'll find them for you."

"Right," he agrees. At least I think he's agreeing. "You must be feeling awfully bad yourself, why don't _you_ just focus on getting better?"

Is he concerned about me? Perhaps so. I am even more determined to take care of him. "I'll be fine," I assure him. "I will heal."

We come back to the bright, clean room with the strange man. He smiles and tells me to sit on the bed again, but I don't listen to him. Only when Reed instructs me to do so do I comply. He tries to pull his hand away from me but I resist—I don't want to lose contact with him. "Chanak," he says firmly, "you must stay here in Sickbay, and do as the doctor tells you, alright?"

I nod dutifully. The strange man must be the Doctor. I will do as he says, if Reed wants me to. "You're not leaving me?" I don't mean to whine; it just comes out that way when it seems as though Reed wants to go away.

"I have my duties to attend to," he explains.

"You're injured," I remind him. "You must curl up somewhere and heal."

"She _does_ have a point, Lieutenant," the Doctor says to Reed. "I specifically told you to rest in your quarters, which I do not believe contain the Armory."

"I was just checking on something. Briefly," Reed tells the Doctor. "I'll be fine."

The Doctor does not look convinced. I am not convinced. "Stay here with me," I suggest to him, since he was so insistent that _I_ must stay here. I pat the bed I'm sitting on. "You can sleep here, and I will keep you warm." He looks slightly dismayed by this idea. Well, the beds _are_ rather narrow. "Or, you can sleep here, and I will stay on the floor at your feet, and keep watch." I am more comfortable sleeping on the floor anyway. But of course I will stay wherever Reed wants me to.

"I think I would prefer my quarters," Reed tells me. "Thanks for the offer, though." He starts to turn away.

I jump down from the bed to follow him. "Chanak," the Doctor says.

Reed frowns at me. Have I displeased him? The thought upsets me. "I told you to stay here," he reminds me.

"I'm sorry, I will," I tell him sadly. I don't want him to be displeased with me. His anger at me would hurt like a kick or a punch, I know it. But his walking away from me hurts almost as much.

Finally he leaves. He gives me a backwards glance but says nothing else. I don't understand why he wants me to stay here, with the Doctor, when I could go with him and protect him and take care of him. But I will do as he says.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching tense and POV. This story is unfinished.

Phlox handed the girl a data pad. "This might help you occupy your time productively," he told her cheerfully. She blinked at the pad, then at him. "This device will help you learn to read."

"Learn to Reed?" she repeated, confused but excited.

He saw her misunderstanding. "Uh, no," the doctor tried to explain. "Not as in Lt. Reed. Reading, as in, comprehending a language through written symbols." She was immediately disinterested and tried to set the data pad aside. "Now, young woman," Phlox chided, "did not Lt. Reed tell you to do as I said?" It was the trump card he had quickly learned to play whenever she became recalcitrant. Which was often. Still, she picked the data pad back up and began to study it, although not without giving him a look that conveyed precisely the depth of her indifference for him.

 

Archer stepped through the doors to Sickbay, glancing at the blond who lay on the first biobed intently studying a data pad. She didn't look up at him. The Captain didn't see Phlox anywhere in view, so he wandered over to the girl on his own.

"What are you reading?" he asked, in what he hoped was a friendly tone. She seemed completely engrossed it.

The girl regarded him with a speculative look, then went back to the data pad. She looked for all the world like she'd assessed him and found him decidedly uninteresting.

Archer tried again. "I'm Captain Archer. And you are...?" There was no response, no sign that she even heard him. Archer walked over to the nearest comm box and pushed the button. "Archer to Hoshi."

" _Yes, Captain?_ " the Comm Officer answered brightly.

"Is the UT operating in Sickbay?" he asked, hoping this was a mere technical glitch.

There was a pause as Hoshi checked her console. " _Yes, sir. Is there a problem?_ "

"No, no problem. Archer out." She _was_ just ignoring him, then, he supposed.

The conversation brought Phlox out of his office around the corner. "Ah, Captain! What can I do for you today?"

"I just dropped by to talk to our guest," Archer told him, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

Phlox's expression said that he heard and understood it anyway. "Yes. Chanak," he addressed the young woman firmly, and she looked up at him. "This is Captain Archer. He's in charge of this ship. Please sit up and speak to him."

Heaving the largest sigh of inconvenience Archer had ever witnessed, the girl sat up and faced the Captain, her expression clearly expecting him to say something profound now that she had gone to all this trouble. Instantly words fled his mind.

"Um... how are you doing?" he managed lamely.

"Fine," she answered shortly, telling him nothing. Having, she apparently felt, fulfilled her duty to the doctor, she started to lie back down with the data pad.

"Chanak," Phlox warned. She gave a full-body quiver of frustration that made Archer scoot back a little, but she stayed seated. "It might help if you mentioned Lt. Reed," Phlox murmured to the Captain under his breath. "It seems to cheer her up a bit."

"Right," Archer agreed, thinking quickly. "Lt. Reed told me"—already her gaze had intensified on him in a way Archer wasn't entirely comfortable with—"that you had a pretty rough life at the Klingon outpost."

"I don't know," she answered. "That was all I knew." Archer had to admit she had a good point. "Am I going to see Reed soon?"

"Soon," Archer promised, attempting to bargain. "I'll send him down here later today." The girl's small body trembled with excitement. "How long were you on the outpost?"

"As long as I can remember," she replied. "When will Reed come here?"

"I'll ask him to stop by when his shift ends," Archer assured her, wondering if it was really a good idea. "Do you know where you came from? What planet or culture?"

"I don't know," she told him, not really appearing to care. "When does Reed's shift end?"

Archer glanced at the chrono on the wall. "1700 hours. So you have no idea what species you belong to, or if you have any family anywhere?"

"I have Reed."

"Right," Archer commented slowly. "Well, nice talking to you," he added, after a pause. He caught Phlox's eye. "Doctor?" The two moved away, out of the blond's hearing, and when Archer glanced back she had returned her attention to her data pad. "Nice girl," he remarked dryly. "Little fixated on Malcolm, don't you think?"

Phlox shrugged in that way he had of indicating that something might not be entirely desired, but it also couldn't be helped. "He _did_ rescue her from the outpost, Captain," Phlox reminded him. "He is the only subject upon which I have gotten her to express more than two or three thoughts in a row. According to her, Lt. Reed was the first person to ever show any kind of regard for or kindness towards her in her life."

"That seems a little exaggerated," Archer observed, wondering what the doctor was leading up to.

"Perhaps not," Phlox countered, working up to his aha! moment. He displayed a few diagrams on a nearby screen that were incomprehensible to Archer. "Although I have been unsuccessful at identifying her species so far, I _have_ discovered an interesting characteristic of it. Apparently, they have an accelerated life cycle." Archer blinked at him, awaiting further explanation. "What I mean to say, Captain, is that this young woman is only one Earth year old, approximately."

"One year?" Archer repeated with amazement. He peered back through the shelves with her. "She looks like she's, I don't know, late teens, early twenties."

"Nonetheless," Phlox replied. "I am uncertain at this time at what rate her species develops, but if she is indeed only a year old, it could easily explain how Lt. Reed's attention towards her had such a deep impact. Her memory may reach back only eight or nine months."

"I suppose," the Captain allowed uncertainly.

"Additionally I have no data on the normal rate of emotional development or what kinds of interpersonal relationships are the norm for her species," Phlox added. "It may indeed be a good idea if Lt. Reed could... indulge her with his presence every once in a while."

"You don't think that would just... encourage her obsession?" Archer queried.

"I believe the obsession will exist in any case," Phlox told him. "But she does appear to be prone to depression and lethargy, which seem to be alleviated only by focusing on the Lieutenant."

"Well, I'll make sure he—" They both turned at the sound of the Sickbay doors opening and closing. They didn't see anyone who had entered—but Chanak's biobed was empty. Archer and Phlox glanced quickly at each other in alarm before following.

They lost her after the second turn in the hall, and she refused to obey the doctor's command to stop. "Where does she think she's going to go?" Archer asked in frustration, trying to decide which hall to take.

"I would not be surprised if we found her in the Armory again, Captain," Phlox told him. "That's where she went last time she walked out of Sickbay, to see Lt. Reed. However," he added thoughtfully, "she has never attempted to leave since."

"We had better figure out _where_ she belongs, and _fast_ ," Archer muttered as he and Phlox turned towards the Armory. "Before I have to lock her in the Brig just to keep track of her."

 

Technically, Lt. Reed was not on duty. He was not working. He had been quietly sitting in his cabin, just as the doctor had ordered, reading reports and doing paperwork, when he noticed that his team had apparently been having trouble with that d—n J12 relay again. So he thought he might pop by on his way to the Mess Hall and check on it in person, because sometimes these things could be difficult to describe completely in written reports.

Of course, if the doctor could see him at the moment, with the access panel and half a dozen parts scattered about his feet and three tools in his hand, Malcolm had the feeling Phlox _might_ not understand his true intent.

"Try it now," Reed ordered, and the ensign assisting him keyed up the diagnostic cycle again. Step one passed, step two passed, step three passed... and then the cycle died on step four. Again. At least there was a _new_ kind of error message now. "Turn the flow rate up to 0.04," he suggested. One of the indicator lights began to blink. Hmmm, interesting. "I'm going to adjust the spatial distortion field," Reed told the man, reaching back into the exposed panel with his hypospanner.

Vaguely Reed thought he heard someone yelling, but the white noise of the distortion field tended to block most sounds when he was this close to it. Still, yelling in the Armory usually wasn't a good thing, so he extricated himself as quickly as he could. "What?" he demanded of the ensign. That same instant Reed suddenly found himself jerked violently to the ground—just before a flare of charged energy shot out of the panel he had just been immersed in. It dissipated harmlessly in the open air, leaving behind only the overwhelming scent of burned ozone... instead of charred flesh, which is what they all _would_ be smelling if someone hadn't yanked him out of the way.

Speaking of which—Reed quickly rolled off his savior and turned to see who it was. "Chanak?" he said, momentarily dumbfounded.

"Malcolm! Are you alright?" This was the Captain's voice, oddly enough, and Reed looked up just as Archer and Phlox jogged through the Armory doors. _D—n,_ Reed thought guiltily. _Busted._

"I'm fine, sir," Lt. Reed insisted, scrambling to his feet. He pulled the young woman up as well and she immediately wrapped her arms around him, hanging on to him like he was a giant teddy bear. He tried to maintain his dignity and politely ignore her.

Archer sniffed the air, noted the expressions on the faces of the Armory ensigns. "What just happened here?"

"Sorry, sir," Reed apologized, although he wasn't exactly certain what he was apologizing for. "There must have been a power surge somewhere in the system—I was nearly incinerated by an energy flare." He glanced down at the blond, who gazed up at him with a potent mixture of concern and adoration. "I think she may have saved my life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I didn’t finish writing this story. Turns out “Chanak” isn’t the girl’s name, just a rude word the Klingons called her. She wants Malcolm to choose her new name, so he calls her Miranda, after his grandmother.


End file.
